The Origin Of Tintin
by AccioKirkland
Summary: My own story on how Tintin came to be, well, Tintin. I might continue it in future, if it is received well. Read and review, my lovelies


Augustin's breath left his chest with an _oof_ kind of sound, as he landed on his side. Mud from the wet ground soaked through his shirt, and dirtied his hair. The book he had been holding landed beside him, the pages absorbing muddy water and the ink running, making it impossible to read. He cringed as a shoe slammed down on the book, pushing it further into the mud with an awful squelch. The group of children around him laughed cruelly, and he tried his best to ignore the mean words that came from them.

"Aw, weak Augustin!"

"Look, now his book is all dirty and he can't read it!"

"What a dork!"

"He's such a freak!"

This was a usual occurrence in an all-boy orphanage somewhere in Brussels, nicknamed 'Ivywall' for it's cold stone walls, covered in ivy. Augustin Martin McCall was a bright ten-year-old, with chin length ginger hair and a quiet disposition. He preferred to sit alone and read, rather than hanging around and playing with the other kids. For that reason, the other kids at Ivywall liked to treat him like an outcast and tease him. They especially liked destroying Augustin's books which he clung to as though they were his only friends; and that was exactly what they were.

Augustin did not react to their taunts and laughter. He simply lay in the mud, breathing slowly to keep himself calm, and waiting for them to grow bored. It only took a few minutes before their ringleader, a thirteen year old named Benjamin Dale, spoke up. "This is boring. Augustin is no fun whatsoever. Let's go throw beetles at the mistress!" And with that, the group of children left. Augustin sat up slowly. He looked down at his book, and after deciding that it was too muddy to recover, he walked to his room, shivering from the cold. By his request, Augustin had acquired his own room, albeit a small room. It had merely been a storage closet before Augustin had asked to occupy it. This meant that he did not have to share a room with the cruel children, and that his room had a lock and key. Augustin, once safe in his locked and cramped bedroom, sat on his bed. He pulled off his sweater, and then hastily undid the buttons of his shirt. He tossed both items of clothing carelessly onto the floor. Taking a deep breath, he lay down on his bed, curling up and hugging his knees close to his chest. Silent sobs shook his small frame, and tears fell down his cheeks. He never cried in front of anyone, lest they should know that they caused him pain. The last thing he wanted to do was look as weak as he felt, as least in front of other people. Alone was when he could cry and punch his pillow and tug at his hair and let out all his frustrations.

He quickly wiped his tears away as he heard a knock at his door. "Augustin? It's me, Britta. There's a young couple here looking to adopt, if you want to line up." Britta was the kindest person Augustin had ever met. She wasn't too old, perhaps in her forties. She had green tired eyes, thin limbs, and greying brown hair. She run things in the orphanage, taking care of matters and watching over the children. She did not know that Augustin was bullied, but when Augustin asked for his own room she did not hesitate to allow him one. Augustin stood up, opening a trunk on the ground.

"I'll be out soon." He said, barely loud enough for Britta to hear, as he began shuffling through his clothes for something nice to wear. Once he had picked something out, he left his room and began the walk to the entrance hall, where he would line up with other children looking to be adopted. This had happened many times in his life, since he was just two years old, and not once had he been chosen. Families weren't looking for a baby-faced little boy. They wanted strong boys; boys who looked mature and tough, like they could do work around the house or the farm or go to war, should it be necessary.

He lined up, standing next to an older boy. His name was Isaac, and he was fifteen. He had nothing against Augustin and so he felt safe standing by him. The couple, who was indeed quite young, walked up and down the line a few times. The woman stopped before Augustin.

"Look at how cute he is, Bernard!" She crooned. Augustin smiled a little. The man, Bernard, scoffed. "Don't be silly, Juliet. Look at how thin he is. No muscle on him. Let's get one of these boys." He gestured over to Benjamin and his friends, Tony, Peter, and Gerald. Augustin's smile faded as the couple walked away from him. They chose Gerald.

Once again, Augustin had been brushed off as a weakling, a runt, _worthless_.

Three years passed. Augustin was sitting in Britta's office, talking to her quietly about how he felt. He knew he had to tell someone about the bullying, and how frustrated and angry he was at himself.

"I'm the scrawniest kid here. I have no muscles, no weight on me. People barely look twice at me. I'm sick of being here. I'm sick of the other kids. All they do is push me around and hit me, and destroy my books and just pick on me, and that's all they've done for the past ten or so years. I feel so worthless. I feel like I'm never going to get anywhere, like I'm never going to make a name for myself. How do I stop feeling that way, Britta?"

"Now, Augustin," Britta began, leaning over her desk to place her hand upon Augustin's. Her hand was frail and thin, but its warmth seemed to spread through Augustin's entire body. "There is a time in everyone's life when they feel worthless. But let me tell you something; you're being pessimistic. What you need to be is a realist. Instead of looking at things in the worst light, try looking at it realistically and think about how you can fix it. I believe in you, Augustin. You may not be as strong as the other boys, but you are very clever and you're very observant. Utilize these skills. From now on, you're _not_ a pessimist, you're a _realist_."

Three years later, Augustin turned sixteen and was therefore eligible to leave Ivywall. He did so quietly, without any large farewells. He simply packed his things and said a quick goodbye to Britta. He had already secured a place to stay. He had convinced a farmer on the edge of town to let him stay at his house in exchange for his services around the house. The farmer, named Wilson Edgington, was of course sceptical, as he judged Augustin by his small frame. However Alison Edgington, the farmer's wife, saw that Augustin was a strong minded boy with a determined spirit. After Augustin moved into the Edgington household, he began making plans for himself. He decided he would live with the Edgington's until he was financially stable. Then he would move out into his own little apartment or home, and find a part-time job. He would live a simple life on his own, with no disturbances.

So Augustin worked himself to the bone with the Edgington's. They soon became like a family to him. Alison once said to him that he was like the son she never got the chance to raise. This was due to a miscarriage that drove her into depression. Augustin should not have known this, but he had heard Wilson and Alison speaking of visiting '_their little baby's grave_.' Even Wilson had warmed up to the long ginger haired lad.

One night, something life changing happened. Augustin had woken for a drink of water, and on his way downstairs he had heard voices. He stopped dead in his tracks, halfway down the stairs, to listen to the low whispers.

"Oliver, you and Danny go find the bedroom. Search for anything of value. If someone attempts to stop you, kill them. The boss said he wanted this particular house picked clean because of the necklace, and he doesn't give two shits about the people living here. That necklace is worth much more than their lives. Well? Go on, then!"

Augustin heard footsteps come his way, and then two men clad in black appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Augustin reacted on instinct and adrenaline. He booted one of the men in the knee as hard as he could, before he was grabbed by the other. He let out a shout, and the third man approached.

"What the f- Augustin?" He sounded surprised. Augustin struggled against the man holding him, glaring at the one who recognised him. That was when Wilson came running down the stairs.

"Let him go, you brutes!" He demanded, trying to grab the man restraining Augustin. However Wilson was getting old, and somewhat frail. He was easily overpowered, and shoved over. His head hit the corner of the kitchen table and he was knocked unconscious.

"No!" Augustin shouted, struggling harder. He broke free, and lashed out with a fist. The fury built up inside him from years of torment, paired with the horror he felt of having the closet thing he had ever had to a father being attacked had made him a _weapon_.

He managed to hit the man who had held him right in the face, bowling him over. He turned to the one he had kicked earlier, booting him again in the same knee. The man fell again, groaning in pain. Augustin then turned to the third man.

"Who are you?" He asked breathlessly. The man shook his head. "Just another kid from Ivywall. But there's no Britta for you to bitch to now, Augustin. I'm going to kill you and there's nothing someone as puny as you can do about it!"

"Don't touch him!" Cried out the voice of Alison from the top of the stairs. In her hand she held a cattle prod. Whilst the man was distracted by Alison, Augustin leapt at him, wrestling him down to the ground. They tousled, and eventually Augustin landed enough punches to render him unconscious.

"Call the police!" He asked of Alison, who ran to the phone. Augustin used twine from the kitchen to bind the three men, and then he checked Wilson. He was alive, but his head was bleeding.

The police arrived, and Augustin was surprised to discover that the three men were notorious criminals, and that their leader was none other than Peter Redford, one of Benjamin's friends from Ivywall. News reporters from a local paper, _Le Petit Vingtième_, interviewed him.

"How old are you?"

"I just turned seventeen last month."

"And what did you say your name was?"

_I could leave behind weak Augustin Martin McCall… I could become a new man. Maybe I could cut my hair, make some friends, get a dog, and make something of myself…_

"My name is Tintin. Tintin Hergé."


End file.
